Dark Fairytale
by HarryPotterGrl100
Summary: Destitute and desperate, Rose temporarily turns to prostitution as a means of making money to leave to fulfill her and Jack's dreams. But one night, after an attack, she is rescued by none other than Cal, and soon she finds herself falling for him...
1. Chapter 1

**Credit to the GORGEOUS Cal/Rose cover image belongs to PiperRoser on DeviantArt, who was kind enough to let me use it. :)**

*** art/Cal-Rose-I-don-t-love-you-but-I-always-will-295848334**

**And this fic will be a darker fic...still romance-y, which I love of course, but slightly darker. And it is rated M for later chapters as well. ;) I hope you enjoy!**

The rain made everything darker, hazier. Cal sat in his darkened parlor of his mansion, reveling at every crash of thunder, every burst of lightning. He was the last one awake, as all his servants were in bed.

Drinking also made everything in his life darker, hazier.

He supposed it wasn't exactly the brightest idea to drink the night before he left for a week-long business trip to New York, but he didn't care.

These days, drinking made him whole. Complete.

It distracted him from the memories of the sinking...and...the loss of _her._

But with every draught of alcohol he consumed, it only made the loss of her more keen. Painful.

She had been nothing but a cheating whore in the end. No. She had been nothing but a cheating, ungrateful slut, as well as the nastiest, most unkind, heartless woman he had ever met. He was better off without her.

But...she had also been the most beautiful. The most intelligent...the most kind...the most perfect...

The one he had loved, and loved still.

These days, he had done everything possible to get away from the memory of her.

But yet still she haunted him.

Prostitutes had always been a means of release for him, and now it was no different. Vaguely it struck him as funny, in the nighttime din, how, ever since he had met her, and become engaged to her, he had actually never even looked at another woman, or been with one. He had remained...celibate, all for _her. Her. _The whore...he had remained celibate while she cheated on him with a creature she had only known for three _days_...

Another draught to kill, drown the vision of her in his arms, in his bed...

He had long been a customer of prostitutes on the sly, and had even had some encounters with women in their own circle since he was seventeen.

But he was always quite picky about the ones he chose. He had many faults, but being unclean was not one of them.

He knew that, for them, he was a dream come true, almost. He was handsome, wealthy, and clean...most of the filth that frequented the prostitute's side of town, excepting other men from the first-class crowd, weren't any of those.

His last had been a mere week and a half ago, and it was almost cruel how she still managed to haunt him from beyond the grave.

She had almost looked like her, but her hair had not been as curly, nor as long...it had still been red though. And her eyes had been more of a dark blue, and not that pale blue...

He had still took her, but still cursed himself for wishing afterward, that it had really been her...

And one encounter had struck him the most...his second-to-last.

She had been a pretty girl, with brown hair and eyes. But she had looked so young...innocent...she could not have been at it long.

He had felt something almost akin to guilt as he had undone her dress, and took pains to be gentle. Tender, almost.

Usually, he cared not if they were uncomfortable...they were there for his enjoyment, after all. Not theirs.

But he had not mistaken the blush on her face, the shy smile on her face, as anything but desire. She had wanted him.

_Afterward, he had been getting ready to leave. He never really spoke during these sorts of things, but tonight, she had spoken first, causing him to._

_"Sir, that was wonderful," she had said shyly._

_He could only stare blankly. Was her self-worth really so low, that she would be happy about getting paid for sex by a strange man, someone she had never met, even if it was a handsome strange man?_

"_I...am glad you enjoyed yourself," he had said awkwardly as he had pulled on his suit jacket._

"_Oh but I did...you are quite handsome, and a gentleman, compared to some of the ones I see," she had said._

_He only stared in blank disbelief. Suddenly he felt compelled to ask her. "How old are you?"_

"_Sixteen," she said._

_He could feel the thud of his heart at that answer. Only a year younger than..._

"_And, sir, if I may ask, if I am not being too forward?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Who is 'Rose'? You...you called out her name...and I just thought...you seem so lost, so forlorn...maybe I could..."_

_She had faltered at the expression on his face. "Never say that name again," he had snarled, and then left her there, running into the dark Philadelphia night, feeling quite cold even though the night was quite humid..._

He took another drink. **"**_You unimaginable bastard."_

"_I'd rather be his whore than your wife."_

Another, but still that haunted him.

Those remarks enraged him, made him want to insult her, cut her...

But underneath it all, they hurt him. Hurt him. Hurt him.

They made him feel pain. Just like her death. Just like her betrayal.

Unable to control the memories, unable to control the hurt, he hurled the bottle at the wall, where it smashed.

Vividly, he felt pain in his right hand. Looking down, he had cut it without realizing, and bright red blood was pooling and trickling out of the wound the glass had left.

He could only smirk.

It was almost nice feeling pain. And now, bandaging his wound gave him something to do.

Afterward, as he caught sight of his handsome reflection in the mirror, he could see the pain in his eyes, in his expression.

_He missed her. He wanted her in his bed, in his arms, in his life...he wanted her here, alive, being his and his only...he would have done anything to start things anew with her...make her love him..._

Slight tears reaching his eyes, he only gouged his hand anew, slapping it on his thigh, biting his teeth at the pain. It worked.

He refused to cry, shed any more tears for her. She was dead, and as much as that knowledge hurt him, it would never change. She was dead.

And he would never get her.

Going for one last drink before getting ready for bed, he still could not escape the vision of her casket...her in a white dress, gliding towards him...the vision of her smiling at him, instead of glaring and grimacing...

As he climbed the stairs to his master bedroom, he still could not escape the pain.

Dead. That was all she was, and he, Caledon Hockley, would have to make do.


	2. Chapter 2

**First off, HI. SO sorry for the lack of updates...school was hectic, band revue was hectic, work was...I suck, lol. :( I am sorry, but I will try and be more diligent. Don't worry, I have lots of Cal/Rose epicness planned. :D ;)**

**And sorry: this chapter is awful lol. But reviews would make me happy. :D**

* * *

"**To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do not wish me such an evil!"-Elizabeth Bennet**

**Jane Austen, ****_Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 18_**

This was not how it was supposed to be.

This was not how it was supposed to be!

Rose Dawson, nee DeWitt Bukater, stared across the black river, oblivious to her surroundings. She knew it was nighttime. She knew it was cold. She knew it was New York. The cold did not bother her, even in her painfully thin nightgown the brothel provided for all the girls.

Nothing could ever, _ever _match the coldness that had steeled her heart, her body, her soul, ever since _he _had died.

She had cried what seemed a thousand tears since that fateful night. She had thought she was all cried out. But no. Tears seemed to live in her body, hidden, and appear unbidden at the slightest memory of him. His laugh. His smile. The was he had held her, had kissed her, had made love to her. The warmth of his hands. The way he danced, the way he spit, the way he drew. All his fantastically whimsical plans for their fairy-tale life together, their eternal adventure, never-ending.

They were supposed to have gotten off in New York, together. They were supposed to have gotten married. She had pictured it many times when she could not sleep, and to picture it made her heart puncture. They would have gotten married in a small chapel, she wearing a simple yet beautiful dress, and he a simple, rented tuxedo. His kiss would make it real, not some gaudy ring, some cheap jewel to sodden their love. It would have been simple, elegant. She would have been fine with a cheap wire ring, or even rope; it did not matter to her. Simply being his wife forever would have been the greatest thing she would ever be, or even hope to be.

Then, oh then. They were supposed to move. It would be tough for awhile, yes, but she'd get a job, and he would, and by day they would work, and by night they would make love, and dance, and laugh, and sing together, and everything would be all right. Someday, somebody would be bound to see the elegance of his drawings, his endless talent. She would one day fulfill her dreams of becoming an actress.

They would go to that pier in Santa Monica, ride that roller-coaster a thousand times, (even throw up a little), drink cheap beer, spit and dance to their heart's content, and he would hold her, and make her feel as though she were flying every time they saw a sunset.

He would look at her and she would feel her heart pound. He would kiss her, and she would feel herself begin to float.

He would... Tears reaching her eyes, she reached for an umpteenth stone, and almost angrily, threw it into the river. The resounding splash was satisfying.

Crumpling onto the ground, she quietly began to sob, her shoulders shaking,digging her fingernails into her thighs, hoping she drew blood. None of it _mattered._ None of it would ever, ever happen! She knew better, yet to picture it made her almost feel better. Content. Forgetful.

She had hoped, in the early days after the sinking, and certainly the following months, that, somehow, she had conceived with his child. Their child. Their precious, precious child. Whether it was a darling boy with his blond locks, sea-blue eyes and mischievous face, or an adorable girl with her red hair and pale eyes, it would not matter. She would love it, love it forever, and in that way she would always have had a part of him. Of them. Of their love.

But no. Her hopes had been dashed. There would be no child of theirs, no baby to raise, to adore, to shower with love. Of course it would have been all the sweeter if he were still here, had that happened, but he was not, and she was not with child, and now she was living a hellish existence, and that would never change.

She was going to get out of this place. New York was loud. New York was smelly. New York was full of doors in her face, people unwilling to hire her, unwilling to give her a chance to prove herself. New York was full of her own broken, desperate, sometimes angry pleas, her pounds on doors, visions of herself on her knees, begging people for a chance, hating how little girl-ish she was becoming. How weak.

She was slowly but surely making money, and her goal was to move to Santa Monica. Become an actress. Fulfill every single one of her and Jack's dreams. Live the life she had always dreamed of. She knew Santa Monica would be better than here; she just knew it!

She hated being a whore. She hated, hated, hated it. She hated that choice she had made, all those months ago, at the sad realization that nobody would hire her because she was a woman; nobody would hire her to be a waitress, or a seamstress, or a governess. It was either stay here, starve, bleed and die, or...go back to _them._

Wiping her eyes, she thought. She had agonized over that a million times, and each time, the conclusion had been the same: She could never go back to them. Ever.

The decision would be worse than death.

His diamond she still held in her possession, albeit safely, safely hidden away in his coat, in her room which she shared with three other girls. Many times she had wanted to sell it, to get all the money she could draw from it, but then she remembered. She would be getting help from him. Cal. And every fiber of her being, every pound of her heart, screamed against that. Not to mention, it would certainly be traced. Or even...it was probably all over the newspapers now. Her death. Her funeral.

Her mother she sometimes thought of, but each time there were bitter thoughts. Her mother's smugness, her snootiness, her irritating fantasies she made Rose live daily. There had been no love there...not at all like Rose secretly hoped.

And _him. _Him, with his handsome face, dark hair, and million-dollar smile. Him with his arrogance, abuse and hatred of humanity. Him, with his outburst at breakfast on Titanic, him with his slap, him with his gun, him with his willingness to kill Jack. Murder him. To go back to that would make her scream. She hated him, hated him, hated him.

She remembered how lost he had seemed, how dejected, as he had searched for her...how he had looked at her when he gave her diamond...how he had seemed hopeful as he had searched for her, and spotted a woman with identical hair color and length from behind...

She thought, and realized that possibly he had had feelings for her, but at most, they had been shallow. Lust.

She refused to entertain any other possibility about him. It would destroy her.

True, there was always something about him that had always made her heart pound, her head spin a little. But she had always hated the man he was inside, despite his immense good looks. And substance mattered to her more than surface did.

She was glad to be free of him. She was. Wasn't she?

True, at night sometimes she would lie awake in bed and think. Think about him. Was he awake now, in his lonely mansion situated on the hill? Was he thinking of her? Was he drinking? Reading? Doing work? Then she would grow frustrated. Why the hell did she care? It was just Cal.

Shuddering, she only stared with mild interest at the thick fog that was quickly swarming in, and remembered how she had come to be a prostitute. She hated it. Detested it. At first she had rallied against it, steadfastly refused, but eventually, her desperation to get out, get money, and move and start her _real _life had been too much.

Every single customer made her want to scream. Every man she saw made her want to vomit. They were all horrible, abusive, disgusting brutes! Every single one of them. She took every single precaution possible not to become pregnant, and she prayed that that seemed to work each time. To make it more bearable, she would close her eyes and imagine Jack's kisses, his caresses, his gentle touch. Try with all her might. When she could (which was often), she got them drunk enough and managed to avoid intercourse. It was just too horrible, too degrading, too disgusting. Too vile. She used all her considerable wits and acting talents and brains, and succeeded with the vast majority of them. Then she would successfully pick their pockets and be on her merry way, leaving them passed out and askew.

But it did not make her any more proud. She imagined what her mother would say. Despite Rose's hatred for first-class, she could not deny the way she had been brought up would always be ingrained in her. Prostitution was vile.

She was nothing like the other girls, though they were nice, the majority of them. Some were mean. Some were sullen. Some were...she did not know how some of them managed to survive, they had been at it so long. If she were them, she would have ended her life, long ago.

Running her fingers through her long red locks, and then digging into her arms, she remembered, and hated her decision. It always seemed to stay with her, that day, as though it were yesterday...

_**TWO MONTHS PREVIOUSLY**_

_She shivered as she came to the brothel. Good god had she thought of every possibility, tried every single thing available to her, to no avail. At first she had rallied against it, rallied...it had taken her two months to come to this horrid decision._

_She was Rose DeWitt Bukater, for goodness sake! She was not some prostitute, some low-life, low-class woman. She was well-bred. She was well-educated. She was everything these girls were not!_

_Then she would remember how dirty and unkempt she was, how her clothes were threadbare, how her food supply was low, how she would never get to Santa Monica, start her life, and then she would relent._

_Steeling her courage, she knocked on the door. A large, far older woman opened the door and stared at her. "Yes?"_

_She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Yes...I...I've come in hopes of gaining a...position here."_

_She grimaced in her head. The woman stared at her, a long, searching, steely look, and then opened the door. "Follow me."_

_She followed her through the immense, almost labyrinthine building, and they entered a small, dirty, cluttered office. The woman gestured to a rickety wooden chair in front of a desk, and Rose sat, feeling sick._

"_Name?"_

_She swallowed. She hadn't thought of that, but she would not give them her real name._

"_Ahem. Uh...M...Melanie. Melanie Ruthasson."_

_She hoped her mother would forgive her for her made-up last name. It was all she could think of on the spot._

"_And why should I offer you a position here? What? Did your rich...__**man **__of sorts leave you and go back to his wife, leaving you down and out?"_

_Rose almost glared at her, harsh words on her tongue for the insinuations, and then bit her tongue. Hard._

"_N...No." Realizing she would have to come up with a better story, she remembered Titanic, and tears came unbidden to her eyes. But no. She would never speak of Jack. They would never, ever get the privilege of knowing all of it, all of him. Never! Those memories were hers, and hers alone! He was all hers, and hers alone!_

_Feeling sick for using Titanic as a sob-story of sorts, she swallowed and went forward with the lie._

"_I...I was on b...board...T...Titanic." The words, the very name of the ship, made her want to vomit. Remembering was too horrible._

"_M...my fiance was rich, and he...died, leaving me alone and penniless. We were in love and going to get married. Please."_

_Unbidden, the rich fiance she spoke of was Cal. She wasn't lying. She really wasn't. At least not that part. She used all her acting skills to project her real tears and sorrow over Jack onto this made-up story of she being in love with Cal. To anyone, this rich fiance had held her heart, not a poor artist who lived life as he laughed: beautifully._

_The woman looked at the young woman in front of her and took pity. Eyes softening, she relented. "Fine. You have a position, and you have my deepest condolences. I heard...why, we heard all about that ship. It's horrible."_

_Mouth feeling dry, heart feeling leaden, she forced herself to nod. "Yes," she whispered._

_The woman still stared at her. "You know, forgive me, but you seem far too...shall we say...upper-crust than any other girl in my establishment. You look far cleaner, far...more groomed. Proper. Are you absolutely sure you don't have any other relatives who would care for you?"_

_Rose shook her head. "N...no. I'm an orphan. Truly."_

_The woman still stared. Rose still stared back, beseechingly. Then the woman actually smiled. "Well, you certainly are pretty."_

_Rose only stared, then realized. She had a position! She stared back, and then words came to her. "Th...thank you."_

_The woman now turned serious, and then went on about rules, how strict she was, how she didn't tolerate this, that..._

_Rose only half-listened, dull elation flooding through her. She had a job. A horrid job, but a horrid job nonetheless._

_As she watched Rose leave, the woman shook her head. True, the girl was a little odd, and was a little too fond of that long black coat, but she could only assume that was her fiance's coat. It was sad, really. Tragic. But she did her work, was quiet and obedient, and most importantly, gained her some money. That was the most important thing._

* * *

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"_So was Titanic all you dreamed about, as grand as everyone said it was?"_

_Rose started, feeling sick. Yes, it had been...it had been bliss...wonderful...divine..._

"_Clara, you stupid twit! Why the hell are you asking her about that?"_

_Clara, Martha, Ruth. The three girls Rose shared a room with. At least they were nice._

_Staring, Rose forced herself to smile. "Ruth, it's alright. Truly. Y...yes, it was. It was wonderful," she whispered._

"_So what happened. Did you lose your fiance?"_

_She started. Yes, yes she had. At least she considered Jack her real fiance. But no. Her cover was Cal. Not that they would know his real name, either. But it was of Cal she thought of when she responded._

"_Yes. Yes...I did." Tears were coming to her eyes, from Jack. Not that they would ever know._

_Now Clara seemed sorrowful. "I...I'm sorry Melanie. Truly."_

_Rose smiled a watery smile. "It's all right."_

" _Was he handsome?"_

_She couldn't lie. Yes, yes she had always found him handsome, despite her hatred for the man he was inside. "Yes, he was. Immensely handsome."_

"_Were you two in love?"_

_This question made her sick. "I...I want...I need air." Then she left, closing the door behind her._

_Because she didn't want to think of her and Cal in love. Ever._

* * *

Two evenings later, Rose was on the dark New York streets, dress in place, and suddenly, dread and fear pooling in her stomach, she spotted the man all the girls had warned her against. One evening he had stormed into the brothel, raging and drunk, slapping one of the girls he had had an altercation with, and the police had been called. It had been horrible. She did not know his name; just his appearance. He had long, unkempt stringy dark hair, and was repulsive. He had yellow teeth. He was muscled. He was abusive, vile and cruel. Steeling herself, she watched as he approached her, slightly drunk, leering at her in a way that made her feel most uncomfortable.

He stared at her cleavage, very obvious in the low-cut dress, and leered. "Don't think I've seen you, Red," he grinned.

She longed to slap him. But she decided to lie. "I am off business for the night, sir, I'm terribly sorry," though her airy tone dripping with condescension betrayed her true feelings.

She began to quickly walk the other way, planning to take a detour and suddenly he grabbed her, snarling. "Nobody walks away from me," he snarled.

Rage gripping her, as he gripped her shoulders and began to feel her up, she slapped him and drew blood on his face. Snarling, she spat in his face. "I believe I just did," she snapped, and then hastily began to run. She knew it was a bad decision, but she just couldn't take it anymore.

All the same, she regretted it. She tore down an alleyway, and suddenly he was behind her, and he caught her. Her dress ripped. She kicked and bucked against him. No. He would not do _that _to her. He would not rape her.

But he seemed intent on slapping her endlessly first. He slapped her repeatedly, and the pain was staggering. She could feel her lip was bleeding. She saw stars. Then he punched her, and then she began to scream and cry. This was far too much. This was...this was horrible. Each subsequent blow ripped her hair out of her pins and made her head pound, throb. And then she was on the ground and she was dodging his every blow, feeling like an animal, an insect, and she hated it. Hated it, hated it, hated it. She wished somebody would save her from this monster! And then...oh god, then! Suddenly, she wondered if she were dreaming. A man, a wonderful man was in the alley, beating her attacker, and she was so eternally grateful...and then she saw him close up, and words failed her. Utterly failed her. No. No. This...it was...how? It was...Cal!...

* * *

Cal was happy his business trip was almost at its end. It had been successful, but the people he had had to deal with were stupid. Not to mention it was so endlessly tedious as well.

He was happy to take a trip to the prostitute's side of town. Grief, lust, alcohol, and plain boredom were all swirling inside him.

New York was stupid. New York was _dumb._

He reached the corner by a dark alleyway when, suddenly, he heard screams from a woman, and yells from a drunken man. Looking, he was horrified. He was beating a woman...looking closer, a woman with _red _hair. _Her hair..._

Squinting, he looked closer, and his heart literally thudded. He was able to make out her face...her tone of voice...her voice...No! Impossible...either he was too drunk, or he was dreaming...one of the two. Considering he had not drank too much that evening, he assumed it was the latter. But to no avail.

And suddenly she moved into the light of the streetlamp, dodging another blow, and he knew he was not dreaming, and it was her. It was her, Rose! Without a doubt!

Not even thinking, he suddenly lunged down the alleyway and began beating the larger man to a bloody pulp. He relished every single cry of pain from the bastard, every single bruise and laceration appearing on his blasted face. Because _nobody, no man, no bastard _did that to his Rose. Nobody.

Eventually the man was rendered unconscious, and suddenly, breathing hard, he turned, trembling, and looked at Rose. Her lip was bloody, her eyes were wide, incredulous, and she was trembling.

Suddenly he found himself shaking, sweating. Somewhere inside him, he found himself beginning to chuckle darkly in his head. Of course, she was alive! Of...of course! She had...she had faked her own...her own death...just to escape him. It hurt him...but of course she, of all people, would do that!..._of course..._

Their eyes locked, and Rose finally found words. "C...Cal?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Cal is back in all his hotness, lol. ;) I missed him last chapter...Anyway, sorry for lack of steady updates (again!) But I think about this story at school, at work...I can't wait to have it all written. :) Pretty happy with this chapter; let me know what you guys think if you want. :D Thank you guys so so much for all the great reviews; you guys rock! :D**

* * *

Cal could not think, breathe.

Rose could not think, breathe.

He was still so shocked, so whirl-winded. She...she was alive! She...she was really here! If this was just some sick, cruel joke, some sick twisted dream, he thought, God was cruel.

Along with his shock, and...somehow..._happiness...immense, immense happiness.._...there was anger. Hurt. This was such typical Rose...he could not fathom she had faked her own death, just to escape him. And her mother.

How could one girl be so selfish, so self-centered, as to put two people through such unimaginable suffering, no matter who they were? But of course, she had always been that way...always thinking of herself before others...And...looking closer, judging from her dress and appearance...she looked like a common whore. A prostitute!

But still...seeing her up close, after only seeing her in blissful dreams and every waking moment, his heart pounded as he looked at her. Despite her injuries, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Somehow, as if in a fog, he longed to kiss her, embrace her. The notion was both wonderful and repulsive all at once.

Looking at her, he was lost for words. What the hell was he supposed to say? What...what was he supposed to _do?_

Rose, for her part, was shocked. How the hell did he, of all people, manage to find her, when she so didn't want to be found, had done all the right things, had covered all of her tracks. How? She almost felt like crying.

Looking at him up close, he was as handsome as ever, dressed in a suit, hair down and gel-free, and he looked just as shocked as her. Scared.

Of course, he was on business, she assumed. He had always taken such trips during their engagement, much to her pleasure.

Still. She could not believe it. Heart pounding, she looked at him. He looked at her, and finally, he spoke.

"You...You're alive," he said quietly, cursing his voice for cracking.

She looked back at him, and finally, she spoke. "Yes," she said stiffly.

He looked at her, and cursed his heart for pounding so hard he felt sure she could hear it. "One question...how? And...and whatever are you doing here, of all places?"

Hating herself for answering, not running away, she, somehow, found herself answering. "I...I hid from you, on the Carpathia. I faked my own death. And I...I...my goal was to find a job, but after much difficulty, I...I turned to prostitution. I...I wanted to gain money, to...move...to Santa Monica."

_Why in the hell had she just told him all of that?_

He looked at her, and suddenly, he was _smirking. _"Of...of course you did. Of course."

Suddenly he spoke again. "For how long?"

The silence hung between them like a fog, impenetrable. "Maybe two-three months today, at least."

He looked at her, and she felt like she was drowning in his eyes. Then suddenly, he moved, and she was so frightened, so bewildered, she gasped.

He bent down, on one knee, and gently offered his hand to her. Stiffly, she accepted, and he was pulling her up, steadying her. Her head was still spinning from the reality of it all, the sheer volume of the situation. The sheer irony.

Finally he spoke. "My...my hotel is not far from here. I...I leave tomorrow evening. Come with me. I...you are in no condition to return to work this evening, and you...you look like hell."

Eyes flashing, she almost insulted him back, but instead, let herself be led away by him.

As they walked, she fantasized about running away, fleeing, running back to the brothel. But then she thought: Sleeping in that dirty, rat-infested building for another lonely night, or sleeping in a luxurious, warm hotel? The decision was an easy one, though not one she made happily.

They walked, and suddenly, he was taking off his coat and wrapping it around her securely. She almost appreciated the protection of her modesty as she realized he was hailing a cab. As she got in, her heart pounded.

The ride to his hotel, of course the biggest, flashiest, fanciest hotel in New York, was long. Too long. She could feel his eyes upon her, and she tried to avoid his gaze._ Why wouldn't her heart stop pounding?_

Soon enough, after an eternity, they arrived. He paid the driver, they got out, and soon enough they were on the fourth floor, the suite.

He opened the door, and the black room beckoned them. She suddenly had a derisive vision of him _murdering _her, simply hacking her body into little pieces, strangling her, stabbing her...the list went on and on.

He hit the light switch, shut the door, and she suddenly flung his coat off of her, so repulsive was it. She didn't need anything from him.

Instantly, she regretted the decision. Her already-immodest dress was completely ripped open, exposing her undergarments (or lack thereof), and she had never felt more unclothed.

Instantly, she saw him go to the decanter and pour himself a glass of amber liquid. God how she longed to escape...but her knees, legs, felt like jelly. Wobbly.

He turned towards her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze head-on.

But she couldn't seem to stop the inevitable blush.

As he looked at her, somehow she felt something in the pit of her stomach...something _odd. _Something almost akin to a _crazy excitement _at the sight of him, his eyes upon her, scanning her body, lingering on her...but of course that was absurd...Goodness, what was wrong with her? She felt ill. She felt like fainting.

Rose blushed as Cal took in her appearance more closely-her torn dress, her undergarments showing, and the bruise now squarely on her face, as well as her split lip. She felt naked, somehow, in front of him-and she may have well have been.

He noticed her blush, and, to her surprise, averted his eyes and focused on her eyes.

"Does this sort of-thing happen often to you, Rose?"

She grimaced at him. He had no right to pry into her own personal life, not after everything he had ever done to her on Titanic...

Realizing he was expecting an answer, she spat, "No, never to this level. Now will you please just shut up and leave me alone!"

He only smirked. "Ever the martyr, aren't you, Rose darling?"

She only glared at him. "I honestly don't even see why you're so concerned at what that man could have done to me...after all, I thought him very similar to you. I mean, you yourself aren't above such conduct..."

To her surprise, he started smiling bitterly, and rolling his eyes heavenward as he laughed, she saw a brief flash of pain in his eyes and cross his face, before he turned his eyes on her again.

"Oh, and I see you are ever grateful to the end, Rose. Not to mention, spoiled, selfish, self-centered, narrow-minded, independent to the point of laughter, stubborn, bratty, and...well, I suppose we can actually add whore literally to the list now, darling," he said.

She seethed. "You bastard! How dare you! Me? Me self-centered and-"

He came close to her and gripped her shoulders firmly, though it was not a tight grip, nor even an alarming one. She could smell his cologne, and hated that it smelled good. "Yes, you are you insolent girl! Did you ever, ever stop to think, through our entire engagement, that I loved you, had feelings for you, wanted to give you the entire world, wanted you to at least talk to me? But no, you never gave me a chance, and had to go running off with that-that _gutter rat _and treat me like a piece of garbage. And did you ever stop to think of the suffering you put your mother and I through? I...I looked for you. I wanted to repair the damage, the rift between us so terribly. I would have done, said, been anything for you. All for you, you ungrateful little brat, and do you even know what it did to me, to look and not find you, to think, to realize that you were...you were _dead? Do you? _Not to mention your mother...That evening, I went into my little room and drank myself into a drunken stupor."

Here he lifted up his sleeve, and Rose saw a deep, sickening looking jagged red gash. He smiled. "I did that to myself, darling. I did. I drank so much that it didn't even hurt initially. To remember, to realize, to know that you were dead and I would never get to marry you, that you were just a faceless body somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic. That was all I could think of. And it consumed me. I could not even comfort your mother properly...I was too numb to do anything. She was inconsolable...and as for me...late at night I went out and just stared into the ocean. I was numb to the world.

"And do you even know how it felt to have to bury you, to feel the pain of losing you forever? And to remember your words, remember how you hated me, always had..."

Here he seemed to stop, breathing hard. But it was only a mere moment later before he started speaking again.

"And really, Rose, you are so stupid! You'd rather be a whore literally than live with me, live any sort of life of comfort. And what happened to you tonight was a very close call...I'd not be surprised if you have more of these sorts of confrontations in the future. But of course, you're so stubborn and stuck-up you think you know everything, know absolutely everything when you are nothing more than a defenseless, stubborn girl! You're never grateful for anything anybody ever does for you..."

Stopping somewhat, he only looked at her for what seemed a long while before speaking. "You know, Rose, you could very well end up dead for real if you keep this up. And if that's what you want to happen, then by all means, keep it up. But just know that eventually, nobody will help you." Laughing slightly, he looked at her, though it was not a happy laugh. "And in your little outburst, you forgot my name. It's _unimaginable _bastard, darling."

Rose only looked at him, stunned. She still hated him, still couldn't reconcile herself with him..but...it struck her. He...he really had loved her. Perhaps did love her, though his insults spoke otherwise. But still...

She only spewed forth the venomous words she had always longed to say, and now finally could. "Well even being a whore is much better than ever being your wife."

He only blinked and finally, smirked, though she could sense it was somehow forced. "Well Rose darling, if you need some more money, you'll have to earn it from me. I'd be very willing to...how shall I put this..._sample _your jewel that is more precious than life, but even you probably aren't worth _that _much."

She seethed inwardly, though she could feel her face flush, both from embarrassment and anger.

"You really are an unimaginable bastard, aren't you?" She finally said.

He only laughed as he took another draught of alcohol, the golden liquid swirling in the glass. Rose was somehow mesmerized as she watched it...how wonderful it would be to just disappear inside, from this room, and never return...

Finally standing in silence for a good long while, she finally spoke again. "You know, you could at least apologize, for how you acted on Titanic."

His eyes flashed, and he only looked at her. "You really are such a self-centered little fool, Rose. You could apologize for what you did, though I know you never will. And fine, I'll say it. I am sorry, Rose. I truly am. But if the fact that I looked for you fails to tell you that I am, I don't know what else could."

The truth of the statement hit her, especially when she remembered how he had mistaken another woman with scarlet hair for her, how dejected he had been after realizing, how hopeful before...

As he stared at her, she felt again that flush of something hot and vital over her. A particularly painful jab in her lip made her start and quickly put her hand to her mouth, gasping.

He came over to her and took out his handkerchief. "Sit down, Rose," he said gently.

Hating obeying him, she did so, stiffly, and was stunned at how gentle he was as he wet it in the sink and came back and sat beside her, pressing the cool cloth against her face.

"Don't pout, Rose darling. I know you quite like to, but that won't help it feel better."

Glaring at him, she relaxed her face and closed her eyes as his warm hands gently tipped up her chin and he pressed and dabbed the cool cloth against her face.

Eyes snapping open, she was shocked. Why was he being so tender?

He felt ridiculous, shocked. Why the hell was he being so tender?

Finally, dabbing her face one final time and pressing her wound hard enough that he sincerely hoped it did cause her a bit of pain, he put the cloth on the table in front of the couch.

Cal was quiet.

Rose was quiet.

Finally, he spoke. "Rose...I...I don't quite know how to say this, ask...so I just will. This...this is no way to live. I can't even imagine why you would want to...Come back to Philadelphia with me. We...there would be no obligation, no marriage, no commitment. No strings attached. Just...I...I will not be your antagonist, your jailer, Rose."

She stared at him, shocked. Go back to...with him?

He stared at her. Finally she spoke. "No...No. I...If you want to help me, you...you can buy me a ticket to Santa Monica."

He scoffed. "Oh goodness Rose, you are so childish, as childish as ever. So damn naïve. You really think Santa Monica wouldn't be the same situation you are living in now, if not worse, simply because it's Santa Monica?"

She sat stiffly, hating the fact that he was probably right. But still...she was stubborn. Santa Monica would be simply magical, simply perfect. Wondrous...

He smirked finally as he took another drink. "Fine, Rose darling. If you really have your heart set on Santa Monica, I will buy you your ticket for it first thing tomorrow. I truly will. You have my word. I will even give you some start-up money. But, once that money runs out, and you are desperately searching for a job, and nobody is willing to help you, and you are stuck, as you are now, if you write to me, begging for help, a rescuer, a savior, I will not help you. It is your decision; frankly, at this point, I do not care which you choose."

He got up, refilling his glass. He smirked at her, winking. "I'd offer you one, but you are still technically on the job, or am I right?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. He was so damn sick!

She thought. And thought. And thought. And thought. Part of her, well, really, all of her, wanted nothing more than to take his blessed offer and be on the first train to California tomorrow. She would prove herself, become a famous actress, and write to him, laughing in his face that she had won.

But...damn. The horrible realization, the vision of her being jobless, starving, without hope, half-dead, only this time in California, and not New York, struck her. What if he was right?

Digging her nails into her thighs, she groaned inwardly, absolutely despising her decision.

It would almost be like _Beauty and the Beast, _remembering the old book of fairy tales her favorite governess, Martha, had read to her when she was a little girl. She had always liked that story most.

She hadn't even realized she had spoken aloud until he looked at her, face expressionless, almost serious.

Then he smirked, winking at her. "Rose, you are nothing if not entertaining, my darling."

Finally, somehow, in the end, some way, she found herself saying yes.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh my darling! My beautiful darling!" Ruth sobbed as she hugged Rose so tightly she felt she would suffocate.

Rose could only sit stiffly, grimacing, hating the very feel of her mother's grip. Goodness, why had she said yes? Why had she come here? This was...why, this was utter torture.

Finally, at long last, Ruth pulled back, smiling a watery smile at Rose. "Oh goodness Rose, I thought...we...we thought...oh this is...this is such a miracle! I...I can't believe it. I can't believe it," she said, as she smoothed Rose's red hair.

Rose stared back blankly, not saying a word. "Oh Cal...why...why this is such a miracle!" Ruth said as she turned to flash a patented, trade-mark smile at Cal. "Th...thank you so much for restoring my daughter to me, our Rose!"

Rose fought the urge to gag, and, for the umpteenth time, was so shocked, so flabbergasted, so _disgusted, _that neither Cal nor Ruth had even bothered to even ask about Jack. Ask what had happened. Ask how she was _doing, _for goodness sake!

True, she had stiffly told Cal Jack had died, but he had not even offered a word of comfort, a word of _anything. _He had not said a word, only stared back at her, impenetrable.

And her mother...god she was despicable! Did she really think Jack just magically disappeared, vanished? Did she think Jack had been a ghost, or some such ridiculous thing?

Then it hit her. Of course they would have known he had died. His name would not have appeared on the survivor's list, as hers had not.

But it did not make it any less deplorable.

Grimacing again as her mother began to caress her pale cheek, the scent of her mother's ghastly, familiar perfume clouding her nostrils, she breathed hard and tried not to scream.

She looked at Cal, where he was watching the pair of them, leaning against the dark gray parlor wall, arms crossed, his hair down and slightly messy, dark blue sweater vest on over a white dress-shirt, pants and shoes perfect as always. He was such a darkly handsome man and somehow, the gray of the wall fit him: Dark, just like he was. It was a cold, dreary day anyhow, as it was September, and Rose felt cold. Her mother's grip felt cold. Everything about the mansion felt cold, ominous. There were so many servants, too, but she hardly ever saw them, strangely. When not working, they seemed to disappear, fade, as if they were ghosts. They were helpful, polite, well-spoken, but so quiet. It was vaguely creepy; disconcerting.

Cal had such an odd, peculiar expression on his face...almost expressionless. It was so odd: He had hardly said two words to her since they had arrived yesterday evening.

He had had the servants show her to her room, and suggested she eat something, to her snappy refusal.

Then he had simply left her there, alone in her spacious, warmly decorated room. She mused the room must not have ever been used before, but oddly, she liked it: It suited her. It was old, yes, and huge, yes, but it was so old-fashioned, so...perfect. His mansion was so large, with so many staircases and rooms and hidden dwellings that she almost felt certain there was probably something as far-fetched as a ghost in it; something ominous. Especially at night.

And just the very fact that it was so large made her feel over-whelmed; it would take days to explore every inch of the mansion. She thought she might do that later, when she was sure he was gone.

But she could not deny being able to bathe properly, be dressed in warm, decent clothes, and almost...pampered, for a change, had been heaven.

Ironic. She had always hated such things, but after living the life she had been living for most of the spring and summer, she found such luxuries were no longer nuisances. At least, not as much as she had thought initially.

Pulling back to her observation of him, she started at her mother's gentle clearing of her throat.

Cal started, and suddenly he smiled gently at Ruth. "It was no trouble at all, Ruth," he said. "It...it was the least I could do," his eyes moving to Rose.

She felt a jolt in her stomach at the contact, and hastily averted her eyes.

Ruth simpered sweetly, and then turned back to Rose, continuing to caress her soft red hair, touching her, over and over again, breathing in the scent of roses from her bath earlier, as if in a trance. It was as though she still felt Rose was a ghost, a mere phantom that would disappear in the blink of an eye.

"You're still so beautiful, darling," she said, as she ran her eyes over Rose's form. To the average witness it appeared nothing but motherly reverence was the reason for her attentions, but Rose knew better. Ruth was searching for the tiniest flaws to correct, primp.

She turned Rose's head slightly, critically examining her daughter. "I suppose your hair could do with some proper brushing and taming again, and you are a bit thinner than you were, but other than that, you look wonderful. I...tomorrow, I am having tea with the Countess! We will get you some brand-new gowns, in the latest styles, the latest fashions all the way from London and Paris! And...yes, we'll get you some new corsets too. In fact," she simpered airily, smiling, "We can just get you some new stockings as well. You'll look much improved Rose!"

Rose felt like gagging. She didn't want new gowns, in the latest styles, the latest fashions from London and Paris! She didn't want those horrid, constricting cages, those blasted corsets again! That at least had been one good thing about being a prostitute: no corsets.

But of course, she knew she would get them, as she always had.

"Was that dreadful shelter really so horrible? I can only imagine, living among the poor!" She said, shuddering.

Rose rolled her eyes. The cover story was that Rose had simply been extremely ill, lost and disoriented and so had been taken in among other survivors off the Carpathia.

It had taken months and months for her to heal, but somehow, she had, and the press had been making public the shelter.

Cal, on a desperate hunch, had simply visited there on his business trip, somehow hoping, wishing, she really was not dead as they all knew she was, and lo and behold, had found her. Rescued her!

"It was fine," she said airily. "Perfectly fine."

Ruth smiled. "Well...goodness, this is such wonderful news! You...Oh, you and Cal can be married soon! Oh..."

Rose started, blanching, heart pounding, feeling sick. Oh goodness no!

She coughed theatrically, putting her hand to her head. "No...We can't. I...I'm still ill," she said, shifting her eyes towards Cal.

He looked back at her, expressionless. Then he surprised her by speaking. "Yes, Ruth. She is. I...the doctor was here earlier; she is still on strict medication."

Rose was shocked. He...what?

Ruth gasped, putting a perfectly manicured hand to her mouth, and then embraced Rose again. "Oh my darling! Oh, then...well...the wedding can wait, as long as you can heal and heal well," she said.

Rose forced herself to woodenly embrace Ruth again, and then finally, Ruth pulled back and placed a single kiss on Rose's cheek. "Goodbye Rose darling," she said, and then she surprised her: She smiled at her, and then grew serious, and then said, "Rose, it will be just like it used to be, before the dreadful sinking. We...we will go back to being mother and daughter, as it used to be. I...I love you," she said, embracing her again.

Rose glared. Like it used to be? They had never had a relationship! Was her mother so deluded she thought they had ever been close, when it was so clear they hadn't?

Ruth got up, putting her gloves on primly, slowly, perfectly, and then said, "Rose darling, will you walk me to the door? Mr. Hockley, it was a pleasure as always," she said, going to him and kissing his cheek.

He smiled slowly, evenly. "The pleasure was all mine," he said. Ruth smiled brightly, and then briskly walked over to Rose, collected her by the arm, and leisurely walked her out.

Rose was shocked. Why ever did they get on so well?

The door to the parlor shut behind them. Taking her arms, Ruth said, "Rose, I...you must forget that steerage boy. I know you are still angry, still going through this...this rebellion. But...he is dead, and you must forget him. You never would have been happy with him anyway...he was far beneath you. You belong here, with us. This...this is your proper place," she said snootily.

Turning red, Rose wanted to claw her. "Forget him? Forget him? Mother, I don't know who you think you are, but I loved him! I still love him! You...you just think that I'm going to forget him, as if he was a bad cup of tea? I don't belong here...and I'm not...I'm not going to stay long. So..."

At least that was her plan. Where she would go, how she would get out, when the time came, she did not know.

Ruth blanched. "Rose, whatever has gotten into you! You are so fortunate that Mr. Hockley still loves you, that you survived, that you have a home! You are so ungrateful and disrespectful! Now, you are going to stay here, you are going to follow the rules, behave, and you will be the woman I raised you to be!"

Rose scoffed. "So a mindless, shallow ninny like you?"

Ruth's nostrils flared. "I am not going to stand here and listen to this! Rose, I...I love you, despite your difficulties, and when I see you again, hopefully your attitude will have improved considerably!"

She briskly kissed Rose, donned her bonnet, and swept out of the mansion.

Rose seethed. Such wonderful quality family time, such mother-daughter bonding they had!

* * *

It was late. Very late. Rose sobbed quietly as she stared across the black backyard, the moon's gloominess touching everything.

It was cold, but it did not bother her, even in her nightgown.

God, why oh why had she come here? Why? This was...why this was horrible! But the core of her sorrow tonight, was him, of course, again. The loss of him was literally killing her.

She thought of Jack, his handsome face flashing before her eyes, causing only more tears to appear. God, she missed him so much! She was so lonely! Why had he left her here, alone, in this cruel world? Why?

Vaguely, she realized how expansive, how wide the backyard grounds were.

She could run. She could run as if her life depended on it, run, run, and escape this.

The idea was so easy, so...inviting.

But thinking of Jack again only made her face crumple more and more tears fall.

She didn't even realize somebody was behind her until she heard a throat clear.

She turned, hastily wiping her eyes, and he was there, standing there, quietly, still dressed.

She gasped, trying to cover herself with her arms.

"Don't do this to yourself, Rose," he said quietly. "It...it does not help, in the long run. Trust me. I...I know from experience," he said awkwardly.

She swiped her eyes again, heart pounding, realizing what he meant by that. He meant her. "I...you could at least have made your presence known," she said frostily.

He said nothing.

"Rose, you...doing this, thinking of Dawson everyday...making yourself cry...it does not..."

Suddenly fury gripped her. He had no right to say his name!

"You don't get to say his name! You do not have any right to say anything to me, not after all that you did! You're such a bastard! You...god I hate you! Words cannot explain how much!..."

Cal looked at her. "Oh silly me, how uncalled for that I came out here when I realized you were upset, and I was trying to comfort you as best I could! Goodness Rose, you are such an irritating woman it's pathetic!"

She scoffed. "Please! You are the most deplorable man in existence! You..."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes upward, and then looked at her, growing serious.

"You know Rose, nothing is ever, ever good enough for you! Nothing! I...goodness, I try so damn hard to please you, so damn hard, and nothing is ever good enough. And you...it's so ironic. You pride yourself on how far above all us other first-class members you are, how worldly, how unprejudiced, how "human" you believe you are. You think of all of us as prejudiced, snobby, heartless monsters, with no feelings or morals whatsoever, and think that you and others are just the most saintly, faultless creatures in existence. But what's so strange, darling, is that you are just as damn prejudiced and narrow-minded against us as you think we are to everyone else!"

She stared at him, shocked. Then words came to her.

"I know I am above you all, because I am! All of you don't have any feelings, don't have any morals, don't have...don't have anything at all of humanity in you!"

He scoffed, smirking at her. "Well Rose darling, I'd look in the mirror if I were you. If you could only see how snobby and self-centered you can act at times, you'd realize you are just like you think the rest of us are."

She scoffed, rage and derision flooding her.

"How dare you! You are nothing but a heartless, selfish monster who..."

He smirked. "And this is the thanks I get for saving your life, for taking you into my home, rescuing you from that waste of a life you were living? Goodness, if Dawson could only see you now...I doubt even he'd act like you...though I don't think anyone is as bratty and childish as you.."

She did not think through the impact of her next words, though they were just what she longed to say.

Rage and grief rising to tantamount levels in her, she suddenly screeched, "Shut up Cal! Just shut up! God...Oh I wish you had died instead of him! I wish it every waking moment of every waking day! I wonder why God let such a wonderful man die every day, and wonder why he let such a useless, pathetic, waste of a man live every single damn day!"

After she said them, she felt so satisfied, so wonderful...but she felt shocked, too.

She watched his face freeze, turn expressionless, his dark eyes boring into hers. He blinked.

He stared at her, and she stared back, angry, breathing hard.

Then he smirked, and he came closer to her. Anger visited his features, and he said, "Well darling," he said, though the way he said the endearment rendered it akin to a corrosive, "a word of advice: I'd watch that pretty little mouth of yours, because you really do have a damn habit of saying the most disgusting things."

Breathing hard, he thought and then anger and hurt made him say it: "And besides, Rose darling, you know, thinking about it, I believe Dawson died to get away from you. It would not surprise me in the slightest, you make everyone around you so damn miserable. He probably only saw you as an easy lay anyway, or else he would have stuck around longer."

Rose blinked, feeling gutted. Tears reached her eyes, and she said, "Get the hell away from me!"

He still stood there, and she yelled, "Get the hell away from me!"

Smirking, he said, "Gladly. But for future reference, kindly remember this is my home, and you, my darling, are only a boarder!"

She closed her eyes, tears threatening to fall.

Cal watched her, and somehow, he felt...guilty. But then he remembered how she had started it, how completely out of line she had been, how hurtful she had been to him, how gutted he had felt at her comment, and he felt a little better.

"Sweet dreams," he said sarcastically, and then stormed into the mansion, leaving her there.

Rose crumpled into a ball and sobbed.

Cal went into the darkened parlor and slammed the door, grabbing a drink. He blinked.

God had his heart ever felt like shattering at her words.

He smirked, balling his hand into a fist, drinking. He did not need her. She was such an ungrateful whore anyway. And so damn disrespectful!...

So why did he feel so empty inside, so hurt at her words?

As he drank more and more into the evening, he hoped it would slowly heal the wound in his heart that only seemed to open more and more in her presence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Would LOVE to know what you guys think. :) Are you enjoying the story so far? Hate anything? LOL but very happy; actually did two updates relatively quickly for me. Anyway, enjoy. Thanks so much for reading! :)**

***UPDATE* REALLY dumb, I know, but this is the final, better, improved version I am happy with. It's essentially the same as the first upload was, except I changed/added some descriptions about Cal's parents and added just a tad extra at the end. I also fixed minor typos I did not catch initially.**

* * *

Rose lay in bed, feeling empty. The only sound she heard was her heartbeat.

She could not sleep. She stared into the black bedroom as if in a trance, seeing all the shadows and dark shapes of furniture, but not registering them.

She felt certain there really was something as ridiculous, as far-fetched, as a ghost in the mansion.

The entire mansion was oh-so-cold; so quiet at this late hour. So..ominous.

She felt dead. Cal's words came back to haunt her, to taunt her.

She tried closing her eyes to sleep, but flashes of Jack, dead, came back to haunt her again.

As they had every time she had tried falling asleep.

She felt dead. She felt so damn lonely she could not put into words, convey to another, just how empty, depressed, she felt.

Vaguely she realized she was digging her nails into her arms.

Strangely, or even alarmingly, it did not bother her that the pain did not bother her.

It was almost welcome.

She felt drained. She felt as if she were invisible, washed-out to everyone who came in contact with her.

She had the most ridiculous notion of suddenly giving up speaking, giving up eating, and just simply letting herself waste away to practically nothing, until she was dead.

It almost made her smile. But not quite.

The notion was blissful. It was divine.

She already felt dead, but to actually be dead, be lost forever from this hell, would be another thing entirely.

She heard the grandfather clock downstairs chime away the hour violently. Three in the morning.

She had never felt more awake.

She felt a dull curiosity at whether Cal was asleep or not.

The curiosity throbbed, permeating the air around her.

She actually, somehow, wanted to check whether he was, strangely enough.

She wanted to know she was not the only one in this bleak building, as she felt right now.

She closed her eyes again, and flashes from Titanic, the sinking came back to haunt her, making her almost scream.

Violently she clamped a hand over her mouth.

She closed them again, desperate for the blackness, the emptiness, of sleep, and now Jack was smiling at her, but something was off, entirely off: His handsome face was now distorted, the skin slowly slipping off. All his skin was peeling off, his body disentegrating, the water having ravaged it for days, weeks, and he was still smiling at her, but now his eyes were sunken in.

His limbs were slowly peeling, breaking away from his body, and now he was a skeleton.

She sat up, trembling, trying not to cry, to vomit, and vividly, she had more flashes of him, dead, as he had been. His hands stuck to hers, his skin blue, cold.

Tears pouring down her cheeks, she violently began to rock herself, willing the visions to stop, to just stop. Stop tormenting her.

She almost wished someone could hold her right now. Even if that person turned out to be Cal.

She stayed that way late into the night, and, finally, fell into a restful period of sleep at last, tear tracks still etched on her face.

Sleep was blissful.

*  
Cal stared as if dead into the blackness of the parlor, vest off, shirt open slightly to expose the beginnings of the small amount of dark hair on his chest.

He heard the wind whistle around the house.

He wondered if she was asleep.

He wondered why he did care.

He could feel his heart throbbing painfully in his chest, almost racing, at the thought of her. Of her beauty. Of her words before.

It struck him that he could just simply shoot himself in the mouth, shoot himself, end it all, and she would not care.

Somehow he found himself feeling dull at that thought, and then he found himself smirking.

He registered he was extremely messed-up to be amused at that thought, but it struck him that he really wasn't amused. At least not completely.

It was another way to block out the pain.

Vaguely he realized that tomorrow was his father's birthday. If he would have still been alive, the bastard would have been sixty-three.

He felt nothing at the memory of his father, except hate. Nathan Hockley had been nothing but a controlling, abusive bastard. To everyone else he had been a handsome, successful, wonderful man, the It man of the first-class crowd, with the most successful business, lovely family, and wealth.

But Cal knew better.

He remembered a beating he had received once when he was twenty, where he had been punched until he felt winded, for daring to stand up to his father for once.

He remembered the time when he was seventeen he had been beaten so badly it hurt to sit for months.

He still had a scar on his back from one of the countless beatings he had received since he was a little boy throughout his adolescence and even adulthood. It was red and shallow, but a scar nonetheless.

He still winced sometimes when he dressed himself.

Vaguely he found his thoughts shifting to his mother. She had been a joy, a beautiful yet chilly woman who was cold, distant and uncaring, who cared more for gossip with her friends and the latest fashions than her only son, who turned the other way when Cal had been beaten.

Perhaps that was why he had lost his virginity to an older woman in their circle when he was seventeen.

He had always been crazy about many girls his age in their circle, and had eventually slept with most of them, but her...she had been the first.

He vaguely remembered how beautiful the woman had been, how...caring. She had actually made Cal feel as though somebody cared for him, for the first time in his life.

She had been married, but she assured Cal that her husband had affairs left and right.

He remembered how his heart had pounded, how he had blushed furiously.

And afterward he had felt...happy. Complete. Like a man.

He would have something to brag about to his friends, he had thought wryly.

But in private he had never partaken in something more wonderful.

And then came Harvard, and his graduating with honors, and his twenty-first birthday, and traveling around the world upon graduating, and he had slowly turned a little more jaded, even more than he had always been, his friends were so arrogant, becoming a little more arrogant, even more than he had always naturally been (but mostly, acted) but still himself, and becoming heir and then head of Hockley Steel, and (to his ever increasing enjoyment) plenty of women through the years, he seduced so many and made so many fall at his feet...and then somehow, he had turned thirty, and became a little wiser, and a little older...and then came her.

He had never known love before, but with her it had come naturally.

And then came...He smirked and took another drink.

He felt his heart throbbing again.

And then came getting cheated on, giving his heart to a woman he loved more than life itself and having it stomped on, ripped open.

He lightly traced the small nick he had gotten from shaving earlier. His fingers traced the small red cut.

He had no desire to see her, or talk to her at all, for awhile. No. Not after all she had said, how ungrateful she was.

He smirked again. It was such a lovely home he had, life he lived. Yes.

If people could only really see how the man so many others envied, so many women adored, lived.

He felt amused at the thought. The majority of their first-class counterparts were insufferable bastards and mindless women who didn't have enough brains to fill their entire craniums.

But of course, there were always the people he did admire, respect. Even liked.

He did like first-class, but he did always have a good laugh at some of the people in private.

Or smirk.

His thoughts flashing to Rose again, he balled his fist and wanted nothing more than to throw something, punch something.

He felt his heart bleeding.

Why did she always torment him? Why oh why?

As he discarded his alcohol glass on the table, he smirked as he realized he had no answer to that at all.


	6. Chapter 6

** I hope you enjoy this. :D Would LOVE any feedback; positive or negative. :D**

* * *

Several days passed. And then several more. Rose, for her part, stayed shut up in her room, only leaving during the day when she was absolutely sure Cal was at work to bathe and to walk for a bit to stretch her legs.

She took meals in her room, and then simply laid on her bed, staring out the window. The weather was always so cold and bleak outside. So rainy. Autumn was depressing, matching both her mood and the coldness inside her.

Sometimes she found herself merely pushing her food around, playing with it, letting it all grow cold on the china, listless. Food could never fill the void that seemed to be inside her.

She could not deny that Cal's words, that horrible night, had shaken her. Scared her. Hurt her.

Their altercation continually repeated in her head, every waking moment.

When she dreamt, when she could sleep, she sometimes dreamed of the argument. Cal seemed to be smirking at her, his handsome face close to hers, his words from before filling her ears, as she looked on in horror as Jack embraced another woman, tears pouring down her cheeks. And then Cal leaned in to kiss her neck as she finally realized that she had been just another girl under Jack's belt, and Cal was really all she had.

Or she frequently dreamt of the sinking, and saw Jack's cold, lifeless body over and over again, sometimes a gruesome skeleton, sometimes not, causing her to wake up in a raw panic, tears pouring down her cheeks.

She knew it was ridiculous. She knew Jack had loved her as he had her, adored her as she had him. But she was in such a vulnerable state, so fragile a mindset, her grief was so strong and tangible, that she sometimes caught herself believing things she knew not to be true. Even if only for a few moments. It detroyed her. It enraged her.

She felt raw. She felt lonely. She felt...depressed.

She longed to escape this room. Sometimes she felt crazy, locked up in it, especially at night when the nightmares of Jack, the sinking, were too strong. She looked at her hands, her arms, and saw angry red nail marks from her struggling not to scream at the memories.

She wanted somebody to just hold her, at night, when the nightmares, the terror was too much. Though she hated it, she could not escape the vision of Cal holding her, just so she wouldn't be alone, if only for one blissful, temporary moment. A mindless moment, one where she would not register the fact that it would be him, of all the men in the world, holding her, comforting her...the feel of his gentle heartbeat lulling her, calming her...his hands the ones that would stroke her hair, his arms the ones that would gently embrace her...his warm chest the one her head would rest on...

She sometimes even wanted her mother. Anybody. Thinking of her father was too painful. She could not think of him without spiraling even more into a panic. The memory of his grave, his funeral a year ago would begin to slice into the already unbearable visions she had to contend with, and she had to quickly divert her mind or else she feared she would simply begin to go crazy with the sheer horror of it all.

Thinking of Jack embracing her was no longer an option either. It was just too painful. Try though she did in vain to close her eyes and relive his wonderful kisses, his gentle touch, their lovely memories, it only worked for a few moments before the tears came and almost unendurable sobs wracked her body.

As she lay on her bed and stared out the window, lifeless, eyes dead, playing with her long hair listlessly, she could not take much more of this...this loneliness.

Her thoughts shifted to Cal often, try though she did to not think of him. She was still angry, still...so incredibly upset with him. But he really was the only person she could truly talk to in this place, and this...this was no way to live. She had promised Jack she would make something of her life, herself. Staying shut up in a bedroom hardly seemed the way to honor that.

She would go and talk to him tonight, when he came home from work. It was at least something. It was somehow better than staying shut up in here, afraid and miserable. Even if she had to see him.

* * *

Whenever Cal passed her room, he tried not to think of her, not be curious as to what she was doing, what was going through her head. He failed utterly.

He was glad he had not had to see her for several days, he was still so upset, but even so, he could not deny he was curious.

Sometimes he half wondered if he would open her door and find her dead, wrists bloody and slashed, scarlet blood stains on her white nightgown.

When he was at work, he forced her out of his head, even though she flooded it often.

When he was arrived home, he bathed, changed into his regular clothes, shedding his suit and hair gel as he always had, and dined and drank alone.

At night he would sit in his parlor, in the dark, just sitting. Pondering. Thinking.

Sometimes he wanted to just simply go upstairs and throw open the door, so he would know she wasn't dead or some such horrible thing.

Sometimes he wanted to carry her downstairs at night and sit her at the table and force her to eat, demand she stop shutting herself away, doing that to herself, slowly killing herself.

He knew sometimes she did not even bother to eat. He saw the full trays his servants sometimes brought to him, at his request, simply stating they did not know why she had not eaten.

He would only nod quietly and the servants would disperse, leaving him alone again.

He did not know why he cared, but God help him, he did.

*  
She knew it was late, for the moonlight had long been permeating her room for some time. The clock downstairs told her it was eleven o' clock.

She had a nagging suspicion he would be in his parlor. Or at least somewhere.

Walking out into the immense hallway and trying to calm the beating of her heart, she walked downstairs. She would check the parlor first.

As she got closer and closer to her goal, the nervousness got to be too much, the terror. She simply could not do this. She could not face him.

But then she rolled her eyes and simply waited outside the closed door for a few moments, closing her eyes, before gently turning the ornate doorknob.

A warm glow was filling the room from a lamp, and there he was, sitting on a couch, hair down, work suit gone, replaced with normal clothes, a full glass in his hands, his eyes staring blankly in front of him.

He started, and suddenly, his eyes locked onto hers, and they simply stared at each other.

She could not seem to speak. Neither could he. Her heart was simply pounding.

But suddenly, she closed her eyes and then opened them, hastily.

She cleared her throat. Speak Rose, dammit, her mind said.

"I...I want to...apologize for the things I said the other night. I...I was out of line," she said stiffly.

Cal stared at her, his heart thrumming in his ears. Then he surprised her by speaking.

"We both said some things that were out of line. I...I am sorry as well...Let's...Let's simply forget about it," he said awkwardly. Rose found herself nodding, oddly enough, and then they stayed in silence for several moments, the silence almost painful. Then he surprised her again by smirking gently at her and cocking his head.

"Well come in, why don't you?"

She shut the door and sat on the other side of the couch, as far away from him as possible, looking around her awkwardly. Looking anywhere but at him.

He noticed her skittishness and smirked again. "Rose, I don't bite."

She looked at him quickly and said, "I know."

He rolled his eyes again, gently smirking at her. "Well you're only sitting as far away as possible from me and determinedly looking anywhere else but at me, darling."

She looked at him and simply could not find words. He really was handsome, even when smirking at her like that.

The traitorous thought irked her, though.

Quickly looking in front of her and fluffing up her hair slightly, she awkwardly asked, "May I possibly have a drink?"

He winked at her. "I thought you would never ask."

He got up and filled a sparkling crystal glass for her and came back and gently deposited it in her hands, his warm fingers brushing hers for the merest second, a second that simply seemed to stretch forever. Her hands wrapped around the glass like a vise.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, Rose feeling more and more awkward by the second.

Then he cleared his throat and deliberately looked at her. "Rose darling, just a question? Why exactly did you come down here? Not that I don't appreciate your company, of course," he said, winking at her.

She stared at him, suddenly unable to speak. Then she did, forcing herself to look at him as she said the words, not look away, tempting though it was.

"I...I came down here because I was...simply tired of being locked up in that bedroom. I...I was...lonely," she said honestly. "And...I don't quite know why...but I found I...I wanted to make things right between us."

He simply stared at her, his face blank. She felt self-conscious. Then his eyes were suddenly on her marked hands, her arms, the red marks standing out distinctly, and she found herself trying to cover them as best she could.

Cal looked at her again, unspoken questions in his eyes, and then he nodded. "Alright."

Taking another drink, more time passed. For some time, the only sound was the wind outside. But at long last, she suddenly started at his next words. "And here I thought you were simply coming down here to seduce me," though that devious glint in his eyes, that wink, that smirk on his face, his eyes locked on hers, told her he was simply kidding.

It was still ungodly unnerving...irritating! She scoffed and took another drink. "I would have to be inebriated," she said stiffly, and then she realized what she had just said and blushed.

He smirked at her. "Well that implies you've given it some serious thought Rose," his smirk growing even more as he realized she was blushing.

She rolled her eyes and looked at him. "Exactly how did we get on this damn subject anyway?" marveling at how simply surrreal, odd, the night had become.

He winked at her. "The moment you came and joined me for a drink," he said, raising his glass to hers in a mock toast.

Simply staring at him, marveling at how odd a human being he could be at times, how infuriating, how strange a turn the conversation and evening had taken, oddly enough, to her horror, she found herself almost drowning in his eyes, hating the very feeling that looking away would be unfathomable.

He smirked again. "Well well Rose, maybe you want to test that theory," and though it was only a joke, only a crass, stupid, annoying joke, she was so on-edge and so irritated with him, so stressed, she simply snapped.

"Oh god you're infuriating! I have just about had it with you! You are such an arrogant, insufferable bastard who simply struts around acting like he owns the place, is supreme ruler of the universe-"

Her mouth dropped open as she realized he was actually laughing, actually...laughing, of all things!

Then he surprised her for the third time that evening by growing serious and saying, "Oh, and you're not annoying at all Rose! No, you're the most lovable, sweet woman in existence! Why you make everyone around you happy just by your very presence, and all your witty sarcastic remarks, and that constant look on your face like you have dung under your nose..."

Her eyes flashed, anger growing exponentially by the moment.

"Not to mention how grateful you are, and all your continuous bratty behavior, and your grating, shrill, loud voice. Oh yes, I just love being around you!"

Wanting to slap him, she only looked at him, and then, not even thinking, she stood up and took her glass and poured it over his head.

"God I hate you! You're..."

Standing up, enraged, he gripped her arms. "What the hell Rose! Whatever is the matter with you! You are such an ungrateful brat that acts like she's two instead of seventeen!"

She scoffed. "You deserved it! Why I can't even know why I didn't do that sooner!"

He rolled his eyes. "And you, my darling, deserve a straightjacket!"

Both breathing hard, they simply stared at each other, and then he rolled his eyes, started popping open the buttons on his shirt, threw up his hands, and said, "God!" angrily on his way out the door, leaving her there alone.

She watched him go, trying to hide the smirk that was growing on her face by the minute. God that had felt good.

* * *

She was sitting in the parlor, simply staring out the window at the black night, curled up on the couch, and then suddenly Cal was suddenly at the door, new shirt on, knocking gently.

He cleared his throat.

She turned, and he came in, and suddenly, he was almost...grinning, slightly.

He never ceased to surprise her.

Coming to sit down beside her, as close to her as humanly possible it seemed, to her annoyance, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, breathed in hard, and then sat up and looked at her again, smirking slightly. "I...am trying to find humor in that, darling. I truly am. You...god, you never cease to amaze me."

She stared at him, shocked. Where was he going with this?

Her shock must have shown plainly on her face, for he laughed again slightly.

"Goodness, you're..."

But he stopped suddenly, staring at her, and she found herself flushing slightly under his scrutiny, but curious as to what he had been trying to say.

He stared at her and then suddenly, for one heart-stopping moment, he reached over and gently moved a strand of hair out of her face.

They stared at each other, and then she dropped her eyes quickly.

Dropping his hands, he smirked again and said, "Rose...I...I realize how...odd...how laughable this will sound, but...let's simply try and be...maybe not right away of course, but... friends. You'll...you'll find I am actually a very easy person to get along with, believe it or not."

She could only stare, marveling at his words. Just what was he suggesting? The idea of being friends with Cal, of all people, was laughable...ridiculous! Simply...

He smirked gently at her, winked, and then patted her knee gently, the warmth of his hand almost searing her, making her jump, and then got up. He paused at the door, smiled slightly, and said, "Sweet dreams, Rose darling," his amusement at her obvious annoyance evident, making her blood boil.

He winked at her again, smirking gently, and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

She watched him go, his words echoing in her ears.

He was just so strange.


	7. Chapter 7

They had fallen into a strange, almost comforting sort of routine since that night. Every night, when Cal was home from work they would always eat dinner together at 7:00, Cal having freshly bathed right when he came home at 5:00, with casual clothes and hair in its natural state, and Rose still in her day dress. Rose was silent most of the time but she could not deny that some of the things Cal said were almost...entertaining. Interesting. Though she hated to admit it, even to herself.

On this particular evening, the frigid November wind was wreacking havoc outside and the dining room was warm, curtains drawn to the chaos of outside.

They had mostly been eating in silence, but Cal had talked a little bit, to no avail on Rose's end.

"Rose? Rose?" Cal gently knocked his knuckles on the table but Rose still ignored him.

Rose was determinedly not looking at him, simply concentrating on looking to her side, away from the table, and drinking her water.

Cal rolled his eyes and picked a small piece of corn off his plate and threw it at her.

She started and then glared at him, his dark hair dry, tousled, in its natural state, vest and dress pants on, cologne and aftershave mingling, her mouth falling open. "What was that for?"

He smirked gently and leaned back in his chair. "Oh good, and here I thought you were mad at me."

She glared at him. "If you ever throw food at me again, I warn you, what happened with the drinking incident will seem as nothing in comparison."

He laughed a little. "Yes darling. I'll say a dozen rosaries later to make up for my sin."

She rolled her eyes and took another sip of water.

Cal learned forward and said, "Well, what I was trying to get your attention for is that tomorrow evening, there is a Hockley Steel party that you and I must attend."

Rose stared at him, in shock. Oh god no. Not a blasted first-class party, of all things!

"No. No! I won't go. And why do I need to be there, and just what is this party for anyway?"

He smirked gently. "Rose, you need to go, as everyone is invited. And just how would it look if I showed up alone? And secondly, you may as well get your much-talked about debut from the dead over with anyway. Everyone knows you are alive. And thirdly, it's just a party."

She stared at him, mind whirling. So she had to go to a party with him, of all people! And be gossiped about by everyone, probably. And be forced to smile and wave and...

Groaning, she put her head in her hands and said, gritting her teeth, "Fine. We'll go to the damn party. But I warn you, if anybody gossips about u-"

She had almost said "us." She had meant to say "me." Regretting and not understanding her slip of the tongue, she broke off and stared.

He was smirking gently at her, honestly amused at her outburst. "Rose, I assure you. Nobody will gossip about you. Everyone knows the so-called "real" story of your illness and is very pleased you are alive. And finally, I think you'll discover I am a very knowledgeable, entertaining escort."

Rose stared at him, not knowing whether to laugh or snort. Cal, an entertaining escort? Please... True, she had never paid much mind to him during their engagement at parties and the like, but she only ever remembered him talking about Hockley Steel a lot and most of it being very dull and even a little stuck-up. Not overtly, but...It was clear he took pride in his company, that much was true. But even so...

She didn't even remember what his dancing was like, she had blocked it out so much when they had in the past. They had only ever danced maybe once or twice, if that.

But curiosity suddenly struck her. Perhaps he was different...perhaps he was entertaining and knowledgeable. Perhaps he was a good dancer. She would find out. It bothered her, true, but she had slowly come to realize that there was much more to Cal than she had ever known. Living with him, interacting with him...it was undeniable. Though she could not stand the fact, fathom that she could see him in a different light, however dim that light at this point, however slowly it was taking.

Clearing her throat, she asked, "And what do you mean by knowledgable? I don't suppose you know any gossip on our lovely fellow members, do you?"

He winked at her. "Oh yes, Rose. Yes, yes, yes, I do. And believe it or not, I do take pride in knowing what I know...it makes it most amusing at parties."

Interest suddenly hitting her, Rose suddenly leaned forward on her elbows and smiled a bit. "Well do tell! You probably know more gossip than I do."

Cal smirked a bit. "Oh, maybe another time. I think I'll wait."

Growing annoyed, she said, "Cal!"

He laughed a bit and took a sip of his wine.

Rose stared at him, so annoyed with his laugh, and that he wouldn't tell her, that all the frustration she ever felt every day lately simply exploded. She supposed it was a silly reason to get mad, but it gave her an excuse to let out her anger and vent.

"I could simply scream sometimes! Goodness...between you and my mother in general, combined with her little project with buying me new dresses and damn corsets sometimes I want to tell both of you to just..."

Rose was suddenly bewildered as he suddenly moved his chair closer to her, smiled gently at her and clasped one of her hands to his heart, almost mockingly.

"You know Rose, I worry about you, and I realize this is probably a delicate matter for you to discuss with me, but please don't be embarrassed darling. But darling, I must ask: Are your constant anger and mood swings merely a product of particularly difficult menstrual cycles each month? I've often thought that you simply suffer considerably worse pains than most women, and if that is the case, then we can always call the doctor and have him make a house call and see if there isn't something he can do," he said, smiling and winking at her.

Rose stared at him, shocked, her face reddening, both from anger and embarassment. Mostly anger, though embarrassment was a very, very close second.

She sputtered, and then finally said, "Excuse me? First of all this is so improper it's maddening, and secondly, exactly what are you insinuating? And do you seriously believe-"

She only grew more angry as he began to laugh a little, and she wrenched her hand out from his warm grip, angry he was intentionally riling her up.

"I'm merely implying that you're constantly angry and short with me for little to no reason at all, and that there simply must be a good reason why...not to mention, if there is, I feel for you and I will try to help you fix it, whatever it may be," he said, smirking gently at her and winking.

She glared at him.

"Really Rose, it's not good for your health to be so mad and uptight all the time anyway," he said, winking again. God did he enjoy making her annoyed sometimes. It was too easy...and amusing, truth be told.

Good god was he infuriating!

She tried not to scream and took a deep breath, though she had to grudgingly admit he did have a point of sorts. Gritting her teeth she opened her eyes and said, "Firstly, Cal, you are the reason for my...as you put it...constant anger and mood swings, the only remedy being you suddenly vanishing or losing the ability to speak in general. And secondly, I would greatly appreciate it if we did not discuss my... menstrual cycles, thank you very much," she said, trying not to blush as she looked at him and utterly failing. It felt like her face was on fire.

Cal laughed at her blush and leaned back in his chair. "And here all I was trying to do was help and try and get to the bottom of your issues, and by the way darling, your face is, I think, redder than your hair, you're blushing so much," he said, winking at her again.

She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. There was a gradual break in the conversation for some time, and then, finally, he surprised her by clearing his throat, expression serious.

She looked at him, and then he said, "You know, Rose...I...I realize it is only the very start of winter...but once the weather gets warmer...we could do...things...like go to the amusement park if you wish, or ride horses, or do a myriad of things. I realize you must be very bored in the mansion all of the time while I am at work."

She blinked, shocked. Was he actually serious? That...that actually sounded wonderful. Pleasant. Fun. Things she never normally associated with first-class life.

Anger of before forgotten, she said, "You...Cal...are...are you serious? That...that would be most enjoyable."

He smiled a bit. "Yes...I am. I told you I would not be your jailer Rose, and believe it or not, I would actually enjoy doing those things as well."

She actually found herself smiling a bit, regarding him in amazement. "A...All right. We...we'll do that then," she said, somewhat awkwardly.

He winked at her. "Good," he said shortly, a little awkwardly, and then they both resumed eating again in silence.

Casting secretive glances at him, Rose could not believe it. True, the man was ungodly irritating and inappropriate at times, like earlier, but...she had never known such a side of him existed. Again, that unwelcome, inescapable fact of just how much she didn't know about him struck her, and she wanted the thought to just sink down into oblivion.

Looking at him, she suddenly said, "So...tell me more about this...party," wincing a bit at the thought.

He smiled a bit at her expression, winking at her. "Really Rose, you should be thanking the heavens you get to go to the party with me, of all men in the world," smirking a bit as he finished.

She made a derisive snort and took a sip of water. "Oh and what woman wouldn't want that?"

He laughed a bit, then said, "It's simply an annual holiday party...we are the biggest company in Philadelphia, so we also invite other prospective clients, business associates, the like. And there will be plenty of food, plenty of champagne, and plenty of music and dancing and gossip to go around. Really, I think you'll enjoy it."

She snorted. "Well quite unlikely, but I'll take your word for it."

Their conversation lulling to silence again, when they were both finished, Rose felt somewhat awkward excusing herself.

Standing up, smoothing her dress over her knees, she said, "Well...good night."

Cal stared at her, lost in her beauty. God did she look gorgeous as ever...and again he had another vivid flash of his dreams of late, which more often than not involved Rose and himself in his bed, she screaming his name...

He cleared his throat, swallowing, trying to hide his growing arousal. "Good night, Rose," he said.

She nodded at him, a little stiffly, and then left.

Cal watched her go, still able to smell her perfume.

God did she ever affect him, like a drug...


	8. Chapter 8

It was late. Very, very late. Rose huffed once again as the itch to get up, move, _at least talk _with someone hit her again. Reading had been of no help, and laying in bed listening to the wind outside did nothing to help her sleep...not that she had a desire to.

It was about midnight, and she knew that _he_ always stayed up late. Doing what, she did not know. But she was going to find out.

For some odd reason, other than feeling vaguely annoyed she wanted to talk to him, and bewildered that she did, she felt...nervous. She couldn't explain it.

Rolling her eyes, she got out of bed, pulling her white nightgown very tightly around her, and walked barefoot downstairs to his study. She still always marveled at just how big his mansion was.

Going to the adjacent room off the second floor hallway, she again felt her stomach dip at the sight of a lone golden glow coming out of the room.

Catching her breath, she went to the doorway and entered.

He was sitting there, looking no different than he had at dinner, and to her surprise, he was sitting at a small square wooden table, holding a black chess piece. A look closer told her it was the king.

She cleared her throat. He looked up, and, to her surprise, gave her not only a small smirk, but a small wave as well.

Entering the room more fully, she walked across to where he was and gingerly sat across from him.

The room was completely black, as was the rest of the house, save for that one light positioned close to the table. She could see him perfectly, and he could see her perfectly. The golden glow seemed to touch everything on the table, and seeing him up close only made her heart pound more.

_Damn him for being so handsome!_

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Rose darling?" he said. His customary smirk was in place, of course, infuriating her.

"I couldn't sleep. I...I don't know...I just wanted to do something worthwhile, something...entertaining."

He stared at her, his smirk broadening. "And yet you sought me out."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes. Yes I did. And just...I know you're going to be infuriating as usual...but I'm up for a game of chess. Are you?"

He just stared at her, face torn in that same infuriating, humorous smirk. On Cal, that smirk wasn't actually mean...it meant he was honestly amused. Or he was enjoying making her angry. One of the two.

She had learned that about him early on.

"Chess? Really darling, I can think of much more desirable ways that you and I could spend this lovely evening together. Much more." He winked at her, and as she glared at him, he began to laugh.

"But I suppose if you're not feeling particularly adventurous tonight, chess will have to do."

She stared at him in shock, aghast that one man could be so crass. "You...you were teasing me, weren't you!"

He laughed shortly as he threw the chess piece up and caught it expertly in his hand. "Well...maybe...I was going to suggest I'd carry you up to my bedroom and ravish you, but I decided that that probably wasn't the gentlemanly thing to do. And we aren't even married, so of course, that would be quite the scandal." Here he winked at her, smiling slightly, and for some odd reason, despite her anger and annoyance at his comments, she found herself blushing slightly and her stomach tingling slightly, even though it was a joke...a pigheaded one at that...and god did he ever annoy her!...

"You are such a pig! Goodness!..."

Her words were cut off by his laugh again. "Oh please darling, not a pig, surely! Madam, you wound me! And Rose darling, a word of advice: it's not ladylike to say what you really think about people. Some men may find it offensive, and just what would your mother say?"

His smirk grew as she glared at him, and she just rolled her eyes again. As he returned the king to the chess board, she asked, "What color do you want? White or black?"

Immediately, he said, "Black." She smirked, fighting the urge to laugh, biting her lip. _Almost as black as his heart!_

She cleared her throat, still smirking. "How fitting."

Cal smirked at her. "What, my color is black like my heart? Is that what you're smirking about over there?"

She blinked, shock visiting her features, before quickly making her face expressionless. "What...how did you...why that's absurd..."

He winked, smirking at her. "Oh Rose Rose, I know you were thinking that. Admit it."

Somehow she found herself blushing lightly. Damn it! And he was so good at that! Finally, she just said.. "It...may have crossed my mind..."

He snorted and leaned back slightly in his chair. "Well...ladies first."

She snorted at his mockery and moved her piece.

Almost immediately he moved his piece expertly close to hers, so he would be ready to capture it as soon as he saw fit.

Rose's mouth fell open. "How...how did you do that!"

He winked at her. "Well...see, I picked the piece up, and then I physically changed its location on the board."

She rolled her eyes. Of course he had to be so difficult!

Noticing her reaction, he gently said, "Rose." She looked up. He was smiling gently at her.

Cal said, "It's a simple move, really. All it requires is marking your opponent's position, and their predictable course of action. Then it's a matter of finding shortcuts and trapping. I can show you if you like."

She simply stared at him, intrigued, and dare she say it, impressed. "How ever did you get so good at chess?"

He smirked a little, shrugging. "Oh it's nothing really. Just something to do when I was bored out of my skull at boarding school and tired of reading. I started playing more and perfecting my technique at Harvard. And didn't you know I'm master of all things?"

Rose could only stare. Clearing her throat, she said, "Oh? And I suppose you were master of Harvard chess, I assume?"

Again he smirked a little, leaning back and tousling his hair a little. "Hardly. That would have been men's ice hockey, darling. I was voted captain my junior and senior year...we won the championship against Yale in 1904, my last year, due in part to my ten goals...not to mention the winning one."

Her eyes widened, and again she was impressed. She had never known he had played hockey! Of course she had known all about Harvard, but... "Impressive. Your parents must have been proud."

Here Cal snorted, and she looked at him, curious. "That's adorable darling. My parents never gave a damn about me...believe me. And I do believe it is your turn."

She stared, wondering how he could be so nonchalant about such a fact. She moved her piece, pale encroaching on dark, and here she was given the upper hand.

"Aha!" Rose smirked triumphantly at Cal, and found he was smirking back at her, something she couldn't quite place in his eyes...She almost felt as though she were drowning in his dark pools...

Breaking her eye contact, she looked at the board and said, "Looks as though Cal Hockley has finally met his match."

Curiosity piqued, she said, "Do you still have your skates? And...and pictures? Or even uniform?"

He smirked a little. "Actually I do. I haven't looked at the pictures or uniform in ages but I can show them to you sometime if you like."

"Please do."

Then she started when he said, "And what were you? Master of ballet, absolutely appalling taste in art, and making all your Headmistresses miserable at finishing school?"

Rose looked at him and it was clear he was only kidding. Fighting back a smile, she said, "You are correct. Except for the appalling taste in art...have you seen some of your furniture in here?"

He snorted. "Please woman. I do appreciate art, believe it or not...just when it's good."

She laughed a little, albeit sarcastically, and then said, "Your turn."

He moved his piece, quickly, efficiently and expertly, and again, he had her trapped, this time securing a pawn.

He winked at her as he set it down on his side of the board.

Desperate for a biting retort, she said, "You know for a thirty-year old man, it truly is sad most of your mansion looks so ancient and truly dreadful."

He smirked a little. "Oh but haven't you heard? I'm a vampire."

She smirked a little back at him. "You know that's one of my favorite books. _Dracula. _Bram Stoker is a simply amazing writer, and I remember buying it and hiding it from all the maids and Mother. She...she sold my copy, when..."

Her face crumpled a bit. _When Father died and we went bankrupt._

Cal noticed the change and cleared his throat a bit, guessing what it must have been about. "Rose? You...you can have my copy if you want. It's a first-edition."

She started. "Mine was too. Oh...thank you," she said, surprised he would even offer such a thing. "But won't you miss it?"

He smirked. "Hardly. I enjoy it, but why would I miss it if I could just borrow it from you when I wanted to read it?"

Feeling silly, she laughed a little. "Fair enough."

Then she said, "Where is the library? This damn mansion is so big I get lost."

He smirked. "Fourth floor."

She nodded. "Ah. I'll have to visit there soon."

He winked at her. "And Rose? We can even go skating on the pond outside once it snows."

Realizing he was only half-mocking her, she smirked a bit. "Good."

Rolling his eyes, smirking, he said, "Your turn."

She moved her piece, and was able to capture two pawns in one move.

However, her victory was short-lived as he was able to capture four of hers in his next two moves.

As the game wore on, suddenly they were at an impasse.

"Let's make this interesting," Cal smirked. "Whoever loses has to drink a penalty glass of alcohol."

Rose stared at him. "Deal."

They shook hands.

Each time Rose moved Cal came up with some new astounding move to throw her off guard. But every time he moved she watched closely and concentrated, finding new ways to outsmart.

Finally, the game was over in less than fifteen minutes, Rose triumphant as she knocked down Cal's king, not even bothering to capture it properly.

"I do believe I won," she said, smirking.

He was still smirking at her. "Well you won, fair and square. I'll drink my poison now."

She snorted. Then a horrible thought occurred to her. He looked so...calm.

"Please tell me you didn't _let _me win, Cal. It insults my intelligence, and I'd rather, if I lost, to have lost honestly rather than win dishonestly."

He winked. "Rose I swear. I did not let you win. I have far more respect for you and pride for myself than that."

She stared. "All right. But still...if you did I will find out! And next time the penalty for losing will be much higher!"

He winked. "I'm sure you will...and oh, so there will be a next time? Shocking."

Not quite knowing what he meant by the first part, and realizing her grave, grave mistake in saying there would be a next time, she quickly said, "Oh I'll have a drink too."

He smirked, pouring two glasses of amber liquid and passing one to her before sitting back down again.

She drank and when she looked up she found Cal still smirking at her, his drink still pure, untouched.

"What?" she said, feeling self-conscious.

"Oh nothing. I was just thinking I wouldn't rather have any other woman from our circle, or in general, living with me than you. That was a compliment, by the way," he said, winking and taking a small sip.

Rose stared, blue eyes meeting brown. "All right," she said, feeling rather awkward and trying to interpret how she felt about that. "Thank you?"

He winked again and then said, "And also, I was thinking that you and I are actually very much alike. We're both stubborn, intelligent, competitive and cunning."

Now, oh now Rose could only stare in shock. She and Cal...Cal Hockley...alike? That was absurd!

She gave a derisive snort and said, "You and I are so different it's absurd. You see I...I am a moral, decent person, whereas you...you..."

The alcohol was beginning to get to her, and that, combined with that intoxicating scent of his godforsaken _heavenly-smelling_ aftershave, combined with the way he looked, was quickly beginning to addle her brain. It was a lethal cocktail, a lethal effect.

Shaking her head slightly, she said, "Whereas you..."

He smirked. "I do believe you just said that darling."

She rolled her eyes, groaning a little. "Oh you knew what I meant to say!"

He laughed a little.

Silence giving way to peace, she was suddenly shocked when he smirked a bit and stood up and offered his hand to her after pulling up the sleeves of his white dress-shirt under his blood-red sweater-vest. "Give me your hand."

Bewildered, she complied. He led her gracefully out into the middle of the expansive room, and then she was shocked as she realized what he was trying to do. "Oh god Cal! Please, please tell me we won't have to dance together tomorrow night."

Cal smirked. "You do mean later tonight darling, as it's probably well after one in the morning right now."

Cursing herself, she said, "Oh you knew what I meant. Damn alcohol."

He smirked. "Oh my friends will love witnessing us dancing together. I knew you would hate it and I told them all about it. There's literally a bet going on right now of what dance of the evening you will finally snap at."

She glared at him. "Is that what you men do when you're supposed to be working? Hmm? Making damn bets-"

Her words were cut off as he stared at her. He smirked gently and said, "Give me your right hand and put your other on my shoulder."

She did, and then gasped as both of his warm hands skillfully went around her waist, drawing her close to his slender body. He pulled her against his chest. She could feel his heart beating. His body heat was quite literally searing her. She was acutely aware of the fact she was wearing nothing but a thin (though expensive and high-quality) white nightgown.

Smirking again, he said, "I figured we should practice after having alcohol."

Rolling her eyes, she started as they suddenly began to move. It was like she was floating effortlessly, and surprisingly, she was almost enjoying herself. _He was an excellent dancer!_

Trying to hide her shock, and failing apparently, as his now-customary smirk never left his face, she tried to hide the growing dryness of her mouth, the pounding of her heart as they danced.

Finally, when it was over, he dipped her and then smirked and let her go.

Her head was spinning.

Desperate for a drink, anything, she put her hand over her heart and laughed a little. "Goodness...you, Cal, are an excellent dancer. I am honestly and truly amazed."

His expression didn't change, that ever-so-familar smug look on his face focused on her, but somehow becoming...almost serious. _God he could kiss her right now..._

As she stared back at him, she again hated the fact he was so devilishly handsome, so smug, so infuriating..._so Cal._

Then he leaned forward a little, moving towards her. They were so close she could feel his heart beating. _He was going to kiss her! Oh goodness... She didn't know whether to slap him or..._

But he only moved a long piece of hair out of her face.

Rose's heart thudding, she gulped and said, "Well...good night Cal."

His words of before rushed over her: "_I was going to suggest I'd carry you up to my bedroom and ravish you..."_

He winked a bit. "Good night Rose. Sweet dreams. And, darling?"

She turned a bit, and he said, "You are a most divine dancer if I do say so myself."

Rose turned back around and walked out, out, of the room, and even though she couldn't see him at that moment, she knew his smirk was watching her go.

Later when she was back in her bed, she could not fathom the fact that she had spent an entire evening with Cal Hockley, of all people, and had actually...almost enjoyed herself.

She couldn't remember talking that much to him at all either...ever.

As sleep gradually overcame her, her thoughts bled into a black wash, even though her unconscious mind was still thinking of all that had transpired.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys! I'm back, for better or worse, haha. :) I am really sorry for not updating in so long, but the last few months of school were SUPER busy. But the good news is it is summer now, so I have a lot of time to write again. :) And I graduated high school last Saturday, so that was awesome too. :) Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

"I wish someone would kill me with a knife; I'm dreading this blasted party already," Rose said as she leaned against the door frame of Cal's bathroom, watching him shave.

He smirked at her through the ornate mirror and then soon enough, his eyes were back on his reflection, carefully swiping his right cheek. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed," he said softly.

Rose watched him, both hating and somehow...strangely... somehow... almost _liking_ how he looked whenever he did _that_. That infuriating, annoying, blasted smirk.

The feeling scared her and annoyed her. She couldn't place what exactly it was, or even what had caused it, but it was still there, despite her every wish not to have it.

She smoothed her soft hair down and readjusted the butterfly clip she had chosen to hold her hair in place that day, and then crossed her arms and looked at him.

Again, she felt distress. She became almost lost as she looked at him, hating and hating how ungodly arrogant he was, how ungodly cocky, how ungodly _attractive _he was.

_Arrogant, insufferable bastard. _His hair was tousled and down, and his brown eyes seemed to have taken on a whole new luster in the cold weather. They almost sparkled. His face was as handsome as it always was, and the new, smooth skin being revealed with every razor stroke only enhanced it. He had just a starch-white dress shirt on, the sleeves rolled up just so, and silk black dress-pants. Watching him, she noticed how expertly, how perfectly he shaved...he always seemed to have the most perfect way of doing things. It intrigued her, and only made her wonder more about him. It made her wonder what other secrets he had, what other hidden talents he possessed.

The more she watched him, she both hated and despised that now all-too familiar feeling of being intrigued by him, curious about him...and, even most embarrassingly, simply liking the very sight of him.

It destroyed her, made her angry and even a little distressed, but these feelings continued to torment her every single day and they just would not stop. Sometimes she felt like crying a little in her most delirious hours, but she knew she could not do a thing about them. The most calm she felt was when she slept. Then she wouldn't be distracted by a thought of him, a memory of his warm skin on hers, the scent of his cologne, how damn clever he was at chess, how entertaining he could be when she actually let him prove himself, like last night...

She felt even if she ran away, just ran for miles, out in the cold, autumn wilderness, she would still be tormented and plagued by thoughts of him, pursued by horrifying visions of him. Or even still wondering about him in _that _way. The curiosity of how he would be as a lover. For she often found herself wondering how he would be in that respect, much to her never-ending horror, embarrassing though it was. She had been wondering ever since that night they had made up, and they had began forming this...this _friendship. _Whatever this was...

It all scared her far too much, far more than she would ever admit. And certainly never to him.

Her heart beginning to skip just a bit as she realized he was looking at her through the mirror, she jumped.

"Rose, are you all right?" She noticed no customary smirk was on his face now. He was serious.

She shook her head a bit and cleared her throat, her voice coming out much higher than usual.

"Yes," she said. She gulped.

Still Cal stared at her. Beginning to grow irritated out of nervousness, she snapped, "Oh goodness Cal, I'm fine!"

He smirked a bit and rolled his eyes good-naturedly before returning to his task. "Well forgive me for asking, Rose darling. But I assure you, I was entirely serious about my offer for the doctor. Don't be embarrassed about asking."

Seeing red at his remark, she searched and searched for something good to say back to him. "I'm shocked. You're not wearing that god-awful hair gel for once?"

He smirked a bit, winking at her. "No, darling, for once I am not wearing it. But the reason for that is I am currently running low on supply. I get it shipped specially made for me from Germany."

She scoffed. "Oh well isn't that wonderful? A word of advice: You should just stop wearing it altogether. You look utterly ridiculous. And besides, you actually look very nice without all that goop on your head," she said, not thinking.

Too late, she realized what she had said. She blushed, and blushed even more under his gaze, a small smile morphing into a smirk on his face. "Well well well, was that actually a compliment, Rose? And did you just admit you find me attractive?"

Rose snorted, trying to recover. "I didn't say that. I just meant..."

Cal laughed a little. "Oh, don't continue. I feel my happiness about that will be simply dashed if you say anything further."

Wanting the moment to come to a very abrupt end, and wanting to get the last laugh, she said, upon leaving, "I sincerely hope you cut yourself, Cal." She gave him a mock-sweet smile before leaving.

She heard his laugh and then his reply. "Keep being sweet, Rose darling. I'll cut myself just for you, and when people ask how I got the nick tonight, I'll say it was a sign of my great love for you."

* * *

"Suck in, Miss," Charlotte said, one of Cal's older servants. She was sixty-years old, with long, gray, flyaway hair, and quite cheeky and intelligent. She was also nice, too. Almost motherly. At least to Rose. She quite liked her.

Rose closed her eyes and sucked in, swearing in her head at the pain. She held onto the bed frame so tightly she felt if it were skin, it would be bleeding.

God how she hated corsets! Stupid, stupid things!

True to her word, Ruth had gotten Rose an entire new wardrobe of gowns, corsets, jewelry, gloves, and hair accessories, all in the latest fashions and styles. It made Rose detest her mother all the more.

The corset Rose was currently dressed in was an off-white crème color, and very lacy and poufy.

When Charlotte gave her a chance to catch her breath, she closed her eyes, gulped a few times, and then said, "I told you, you can call me Rose."

The older woman gave a very small smile at that, and said, "Oh no, Miss. That's not proper."

Leaning her head back, Rose panted a bit and said, "Oh, to hell with propriety. Call me Rose."

Charlotte smiled a bit and said, "Oh, very well...Rose. Now I apologize, but just suck in once more, and then we're all done."

"Thank god," Rose groaned. She closed her eyes, sucked in, and then she was finally laced.

Wanting to catch her breath more and allow air (well, as much air as currently possible) to fill her lungs, she sat down on the bed for a few precious moments..

Watching Charlotte, she said, "I wonder, Charlotte...how long have you worked for Cal?"

"Oh, a year."

"You look very unfamiliar...most of the servants do."

Charlotte chuckled a little. "Well I imagine most would, when all we do is flit unnoticed during the day, doing our various duties."

Rose watched her. More curiosity struck her. "Do you like him...Well, do any of you like him? I mean really like him?"

To her surprise, Charlotte chuckled. "Well, actually, yes. Quite honestly, when you've worked in as many first-class homes as I have, there are of course the few employers you wish would die-of natural causes, of course- but on the whole, Mr. Hockley is remarkably easy to work for."

Disbelief flooded her. Rose sat up. "Really? I mean...he doesn't yell, or..."

Charlotte laughed. "Actually, no. I know this must be difficult for you to believe, but he is actually quite quiet and rather calm. Of course, he has yelled before, but only when people really mucked things up, and even then, only when they did it on purpose. But he pays us well, is very good about days off, and only wants us to do our duties correctly. So no, to answer your question, he is not a tyrant or anything of which you imagine." The woman smiled wryly at Rose as she finished.

Rose blinked. "Oh," she said, shocked.

The woman gave her a knowing smile. "You seem so determined, Rose."

Rose looked at her. "Determined of what?"

Charlotte laughed a little. "Oh, to see something that simply isn't there."

Rose stared. "I..."

Charlotte smiled, and then grew serious and said, "Rose, will you be requiring my assistance for your dress as well?"

Rose smiled a bit woodenly and said, "Oh no. I can take it from here. But Charlotte? Thank you," she said.

The older woman smiled as she left. "My pleasure, Rose."

Rose stood up and looked in the full-length mirror, turning her head this way and that, still trying to process what she had been told. Cal was a reasonable, good employer. Cal was a good, reasonable employer.

It still didn't make sense, no matter how much she repeated it.

Her mind wandering, she carefully surveyed herself, casting one last glance over her appearance. Her red hair was done in a soft braid, the plait held in place by a dark green velvet elastic, to match her dress.

She fingered the soft material of the corset, rubbing it between her fingers absentmindedly.

Truthfully, the corset was pretty. But that was the only good thing about it.

She was jolted from her trance by a gentle knock at the door, and then the door opening. "Rose darling? Are you r-"

She gasped a little, knowing she desperately needed to cover herself, but dreadfully bereft of anything to do so with, save for her dress, which was far, far away, on her bed.

It was like she couldn't move. She felt numb, frozen in place. She was embarrassed, a dull blush beginning to coat her cheeks, but her heart pounded with something else. Almost excitement. She felt her palms beginning to sweat a little.

There he was, standing in the doorway, hair down, looking as delightfully dark and handsome as ever, perfect suit-jacket on over his dress-shirt. He looked like pure perfection. The mingling scents of his aftershave and cologne washed over her, almost taunting her.

She had never felt more unclothed in front of him, and, almost deliriously, some secret part of her was almost, hungrily, hoping he would take her right then and there, on her bed.

She could not understand it. She would never understand it. But it seemed while her conscious mind couldn't, her unconscious mind could, as well as her body.

It seemed like he couldn't move either. It seemed like Cal was also frozen in place.

_Cal was speechless. Good lord was she beautiful...Her perfect soft, white skin was showcased more fully than ever in just her corset, and he was painfully aware of the fact that underneath, she wore nothing. _

_His heart thrummed painfully against his ribs, raced horribly. _

_She was always perfection, but he found himself wanting to forget the party and simply devour her right now._

_Gradually, he felt something kicking in... like his brain...no, a conscience. Well, _his_ conscience, at least. Yes, it did vary by just a little from most people's, but contrary to popular belief, he did possess a very real, moral, considerate, and working one._

_He knew she probably was embarrassed. He knew she probably was humiliated. He knew she didn't deserve to have him ogling her improperly, like some animal._

_The gentleman in him kicked in, and he covered his eyes, cleared his throat quietly, and apologized, also adding for her to join him when she was fully ready, before quickly shutting the door behind him._

_He leaned against it, trying to calm his heartbeat. Or the urge for cold water to be dumped on him._

_She was his undoing, all the time._

Gradually, Rose felt jolted out of her reverie at the sound of his voice. Cal averted his eyes, covered them, and said, "I apologize, Rose darling. I should not have opened the door. Take your time, and you can join me when you are ready."

And with that, the door was closed again, and he was gone.

It felt like her legs were jelly. She sat down on the bed and put a hand on her heart, trying to quell the butterflies she felt in her stomach as well.

Now her conscious mind was fully kicked in once more, her cheeks flamed that he had seen her in just her corset, almost nude...but more than that, the feelings that had washed over her were more intense than anything she had ever felt yet here in his mansion.

As Rose dressed, putting on her perfect silk gown and gloves, then rubbing her red cheeks as she looked in the mirror, her heart still pounded.

What was he doing to her? And, even worse, what was she allowing him to do to her?

She took a deep breath and then left, thoughts even more unsettled as she thought of the party only mere moments away.


	10. AN: Computer Problems

**Hey guys! :) I thought I should tell you why it has been taking so long for an update. And I apologize, I really want to write more soon! Unfortunately, my laptop completely crashed a few weeks ago, to the point where it is done for good. But I suppose it's not that surprising, as it lasted a good time and that was my older sister's old one when she was in college before I got it. Anyway, point is I lost all my writing documents, and the three future ones for this story. :( I was really mad at first but I started rewriting the ones for this story and I actually like the new rewrites better compared to what I had. But lesson learned, now I am always going to back up files in my e-mail too.**

**Now, problem is the downstairs computer I am currently writing this on really quickly is really old and crashes almost constantly, making saving anything almost impossible. I will be buying a new laptop soon, probably in the next two weeks, and so then I will be sure to update ASAP. I can't wait to get my new laptop.**

**Again, really sorry for not updating; I have wanted to for forever! Hope everyone is having a great summer; I know I am! :) And everyone see that new Walking Dead trailer? Looks awesome! :) Anyway, if you actually read this whole rambling AN, I will be really shocked haha. Next time I post it will be a new chapter.**

**Thanks, Melissa (HarryPotterGrl100)**


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